Antitrust
by HlysComment
Summary: Neal is Peter's secret weapon but when a devious player comes to town, he makes it his mission to get Neal out of the way. Trouble is afoot and Neal's gonna help, whether Peter wants it or not.
1. Chapter 1

**I have no rights to White Collar's characters. I'm just goofing around. Don't shoot.**

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"Neal."

Neal's mind slowly came alive but hadn't quite made out what was going on.

"Neal. Wake up."

A voice was whispering. Neal opened his eyes…and found Mozzie's bespeckled brown eyes peering not four inches from his face.

"What the…" Neal exclaimed and instinctively jerked away from the uncomfortably close proximity of his friend.

"Mozz!" Neal exclaimed in an exasperated voice.

"Mozz, what are you doing in my room?" He grunted, and wiped at his eyes as though he could somehow wipe away the heavy weariness he felt.

"I didn't want to wake June." Mozzie explained as though that should have been obvious. "Get a shirt on, I gotta show you something."

"Now?" Neal was incredulous.

"No, Neal, tomorrow." Mozzie griped. "I snuck in and woke you in the middle of the night because I need you to look at something tomorrow," He shrugged. "Whenever's fine." He rolled his eyes and then hissed. "Yes, NOW."

"Okay, okay." Neal said groggily. "Give me a minute."

Mozzie folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently as Neal reached into his closet for a shirt. As he laced up his shoes he said, "You know tapping your foot like that doesn't actually make me move faster, right?"

"Just hurry!" Mozzie whispered.

Neal pulled out a tie and Mozzie hissed, "You're not going to the Met, just c'mon!"

"Mozz, seriously, what's got you so riled up?"

"I need to show you. Now, c'mon."

"Okay," Neal shook his head smiling. "Okay, fine. Show me."

Mozzie explained excitedly as he led Neal down the dark and largely deserted streets.

"I was walking along, minding my own business when this car comes screeching around the corner. The passenger side back door was open and this briefcase came hurling out of the side. I swear, it almost hit me." Mozzie rattled.

"A briefcase?" Neal smiled. "Let me guess, you looked inside it."

"Of course, I looked inside it." Mozzie snorted. "It almost hit me." As if that were more than enough to entitle him to a look.

Neal smiled. "So, what was inside?"

Mozzie paused dramatically then said, carefully enunciating the word, "Money."

"Money?" Neal repeated.

Mozzie nodded. "Money."

"How much money?" Neal asked, intrigued.

"$100,000 minimum." Mozzie said. "Unmarked, non sequential bills."

"Sounds like a payment." Neal mused. "But for what?"

"Exactly what I was thinking." Mozzie nodded. "So, I grabbed it and stashed it within your radius."

"Why?" Neal asked. "Why not just take it?"

"Because," Mozzie began, speaking as though the reason were obvious. "I wanted to make sure the money was clean and not somehow being tracked by big brother. You're my official big brother contact so I needed you to check it out."

Neal chuckled. "I'm big brother now?"

Mozzie shook his head. "Oh you have no idea how far down the rabbit hole you've slipped my friend." Then Mozzie stopped abruptly. "We're here." He announced as they arrived at a construction site.

"I stashed it in this giant pipe thingy over here." Mozzie grunted as he picked his way through the worksite debris and approached what appeared to be a large drainage ditch and pipe. He finally seemed to rethink his approach.

"You're the graceful one." Mozzie panted, pointing toward the pipe. "You go get it."

Neal stared. "In this outfit?" He asked, incredulous.

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "It's old."

"It's vintage." Neal sounded hurt.

"Which is another word for old. Neal, just get the briefcase." Mozzie huffed.

He watched Neal pick his way carefully through the muddy upturned earth and then stop short.

"Have you seen it?" Mozzie called.

"Oh, I see it." Neal sounded strange.

"Isn't that the strangest thing you ever saw in your life?" Mozzed asked.

"It's strange alright." Neal said and Mozzie was startled by how close he was. Neal had really booked it back up. "Mozzie," Neal panted. "there's no briefcase down there…"

"There has to be!" Mozzie interrupted. "I left it there not half an hour ago."

"There's no briefcase, Mozzie." Neal insisted. "There's a body."  
"A body?" Mozzie snorted. "Neal what are you playing at?"  
Neal shook his head, ruffled. "I'm not playing at anything, Mozz. I'm telling you there is a body in that pipe."

Mozzie shook his head and muttering about small minds cracking under the pressure of working for the man fairly stomped to the pipe.

"Oh," Mozzie said, startled by what he saw there, despite Neal's warnings. "A body."

He turned and scampered hurriedly away from the staring dead eyes of the young male corpse. "Neeeaaaalll!"

He reached the street level of the construction site and Neal in quick time and panted, "Neal, there's … there's a body down there."

Neal exclaimed, "I know that, Mozzie!"

"I just…I just left here. I went…I went straight to your place." Mozzie continued to pant.

Neal looked around. "Which means someone followed you here. They probably made the switch right after you left. Let's get out of here, Mozz."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Mozzie sputtered and the two friends walked quickly back to Neal's rooms in June's house.

As soon as he had closed his door behind Mozzie, Neal went for his phone.

"What are you doing?" Mozzie exclaimed.

"It's a dead body, Mozz." Neal said. "I've got to tell Peter."

"Aaaand that's my cue to leave." Mozzie said quietly and headed for the door.

"Hey, wait!" Neal called in a stage whisper. "How do I explain how I found it?"

"You're a smart guy, Neal." Mozzie said simply as he edged out of the door. "You'll figure something out."

"Great." Neal said as the phone on the other side of the line continued to ring.

"Hello." Peter's voice sounded sleepy…and grumpy. Neal's winced then plastered a smile on his face.

"Um, Peter. Hi, it's Neal." He began.

"Caffrey?" Peter muttered. "It's 3 AM. You better have a reason you're calling me at 3 AM and it'd better be a damn good reason at that."

"Um," Neal hesitated and then said with a slight wince, "Is a dead body a good reason?"


	2. Chapter 2

Neal stared at the drainage pipe that was now pitilessly illuminated by several flashlights. Flashlights which revealed it to be completely empty.

Neal turned to Peter who was glaring at the empty pipe, "Peter, I swear there was a body in that pipe."

Peter turned his gaze on Neal who fought the urge to shrink back. He tensed waiting for the tirade but Peter simply shook his head furiously and stomped away yelling, "Shut it down people. False alarm. This is my foul up. Sorry to have wasted your time."

Neal's eyes darted from the empty pipe to Peter's retreating back a few times before running to catch up with the angry FBI agent.

"Peter!" He called. "Peter, I swear…"

"Neal," Peter cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. I.."

Peter's phone rang and holding an angry finger up in Neal's face, he answered it.

"This is Agent Burke." Peter jerked the phone an inch from his ear and Neal winced as he heard an angry tin voice shout through the phone's speaker.

"Yes, sir." Peter said contritely. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir. We got some bad intel."

Peter looked meaningfully at Neal who dropped his eyes for a moment before peeking them back up, as if testing to see if it was safe to once again make eye contact.

"I take full responsibility, sir. No, I know, sir. I don't think that's necessary, sir. He just got a little over eager. It's not uncommon for a new agent to start seeing crime everywhere and overreact."

Peter dropped his head. "Yes, sir. I know Caffrey isn't an agent, sir, but he's…what I meant, sir is that he's still a bit fresh to the team and it's not surprising that he's reacting in a similar way."

Neal knew he had caused Peter a lot of trouble and that he was about to get the lecture of his life but he couldn't help be pleased at Peter talking about him as if he were an agent and not a felon.

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. I'll have all the paperwork on your desk first thing this morning, sir. Thank you and Good…" Peter stopped and shaking his head pulled the phone from his ear. "..and Good Night, sir."

Neal didn't want to make eye contact with Peter but he could feel Peter's eyes on him. He slowly brought his eyes from where they'd been resting (on Peter's elbow) to meet Peter's.

Neal had never seen Peter so furious.

"Peter, I swear it was there." Neal pleaded. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"Do you get how serious this is, Neal?" Peter fumed. "I just talked Hughes out of sending you back to prison, Neal. Prison!"

Neal knew he should shut up and be contrite but he found himself sputtering, "It was there, Peter! I saw it! Young guy, brown hair, grey eyes."

Peter shook his head and started walking toward his Taurus.

"He was wearing a beige shirt and black trousers." Neal went on. "He, he had a mole on his neck near his collar."

"Neal!" Peter held up his hands. "Neal, I don't know what you saw. I don't know, maybe you had a vivid dream. You could have been sleep walking."

"Sleep walking?" Neal couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Since when do I sleep walk? You think I _dreamed_ this up!"

"Neal, you've been under an incredible amount of stress. What happened to Kate was traumatic. You think I didn't notice the flashbacks? The shakes? It really isn't uncommon for people who have suffered tragedies like that to have vivid dreams and start sleep walking, especially when the trauma involves the loss of a loved one."

Now it was Neal's turn to fume.

"This," Neal said in a clipped voice. "has nothing to do with Kate. It has to do with the dead body I found in that pipe."

Peter shook his head and climbed into the car.

"Where are you going?" Neal said grabbing the door before Peter could shut it.

"I'm going to the office, Neal." Peter replied, jumping up and not quite yelling in Neal's face. "I'm going to the office because I've promised to have all the paperwork this little tea party of yours requires on Hughes' desk by 8 o'clock today which is" Peter checked his watch, "three and a half hours from now."

Neal ducked his head. "I don't know what to tell you, Peter. It was there. I swear it was there."

"Neal, just…" Peter sighed suddenly very tired. "Just go home."

Peter climbed back into the car and shut the door, this time with no interference from Neal.

Neal watched the car's tail lights for a long moment before kicking sullenly at the ground and starting off in the direction of June's house.

From across the street, a man in a dark Italian suit watched him go through a camera's high power zoom lens. He pulled the camera down and smiled, seemingly very satisfied by what he had seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**There has been an edit to this chapter. MaraudingSnitch1314 pointed out, and I agree with her, that the reaction I had written for Mozzie didn't fit the character. So, I've modified that reaction and I think it fits much better. **

**Thanks so much to those who review. You are always inspiring and very often help writers make stories better. =)**

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"This is a really bad idea." Mozzie whispered as he and Neal approached the construction site.

"You've mentioned that." Neal sighed.

"Well, the truth bears repeating." Mozzie insisted looking suspiciously around the site. "What are we even looking for?" He asked as he hurried to catch up to Neal who was slowly advancing on the drainage pipe with a flashlight.

"I don't know, Mozz." Neal said. "A scrap of cloth, a blood drop, something to prove that there was a body in that pipe."

"You know, this is how I know you've turned Fed." Mozzie sighed. "In the old days you'd actually have been happy that a dead body disappeared and you'd have been right_. _Because _only crazy people and Feds go looking for dead bodies in the middle of the night!"_

"Look, Mozz, the construction crew could show up any minute and once they start digging around and doing.." Neal shrugged. "..construction type things any evidence that might be in that pipe will be gone." Neal insisted. "It's now or never."

"Fine." Mozzie hissed. "But you owe me big ti…"

The small man's voice trailed away. Sitting in the pipe was the briefcase.

"Mozz," Neal's voice rose strangely. "What's going on here?"

"I don't know." Mozzie said. "But that's the case, exactly as I left it."

Neal started forward and Mozzie frantically grabbed at his sleeve.

"What are you doing?" He fairly screeched. "Don't touch it! Don't go near it! This is hinky, man. HINKY! We need to walk away, NOW!"

"Mozz, that's my evidence!" Neal said. "I've got to bring it to Peter."

"Neal!" Mozzie huffed but Neal continued forward.

He reached out, placed his thumbs on the release clasps then cursed and pulled his hands away as the clasps sprung up. Mozzie jumped. "What?" He breathed.

"The clasp's been scratched. I cut my thumb." Neal said as he took the thumb in question from his mouth.

"See, that's a sign. It's saying, 'Get the hell out of here you stupid Losers.'"

Neal ignored him and slowly lifted the lid to the case while Mozzie closed his eyes and winced in anticipation.

But lifting the lid of the case merely revealed a somewhat large wooden box with a small note attached.

The note read, _Hello Boys_

"Neal." Mozzie warned but Neal reached out and slowly lifted the lid to the box.

Both Mozzie and Neal stared in sick horror for a long two seconds before Mozzie declared in a breathy voice, "Oh, that is IT." and unabashedly fled. His sudden movement startled Neal who after a moment's hesitation followed after his panicked friend. Mozzie managed to get a full block from the construction site before Neal grabbed and stopped him.

"We have to go back." Neal panted.

"Are you _insane_!" Mozzie screamed. "It's a hand, Neal! A HAND!" Mozzie shook his head rapidly from side to side in a crazed fashion. "We went looking for a body and we didn't find a body we found a hand. A hand WITHOUT a BODY!"

"Mozzie, calm down." Neal said.

"CALM DOWN?" Mozzie screeched. "I'm walking down the street minding my own business and then there's this case, then a body, which is bad enough. I don't do the macabre, man. I'm a sensitive soul. I'm a freaking BUDDHIST! And then the body's gone and I didn't even have a problem with that, it was you! You had to drag me back down here and then the case is back and there's a HAND!" Mozzie shook his head again. "Nope, that's it man. I'm done. DONE!" And he stormed off.

Neal watched his diminutive friend's rather dramatic exit and looked back in the direction of the construction site. It couldn't wait. Someone was playing a game and Neal had to get that case. Even if Peter did believe him, by the time Peter and the rest of the team got here Neal knew the case would have once again vanished.

He squared his shoulders and ran back the way he'd come. When he neared the site, he slowed to a walk and picked his way gingerly through the shadows until he reached the ditch. He reached forward in the dark, not wanting to alert anyone with his flashlight but his hands fell through empty space. He reached out again feeling around in the direction he knew the case should be. Nothing.

Finally, Neal pulled out the flashlight and shined it on the pipe, the empty pipe.

The case was nowhere to be seen.

Neal felt an icy cold shiver race down his spine as he realized that there was no explanation other than that whoever was playing games with him was nearby. Very nearby. He was probably watching Neal at that very moment.

Neal looked around at the site for any sign of this malevolent mystery man. He backed carefully away from the pipe and then beat a hasty retreat.

What was going on?


	4. Chapter 4

"Neal…Neal!" Mozzie resorted to lightly punching Neal in the arm as they walked down the busy New York street.

"Huh?" Neal came out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, Mozz. I was thinking about…"

"Nope." Mozzie's put his hands up and then glanced at them nervously and put them back down again, seemingly deciding that a pointed finger was a better gesture. "No, we don't talk about … the event. Ever."

It had been two days since Neal and Mozzie had returned to the construction site to find the gruesome calling card.

Neal raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say anything."

"Good." Was Mozzie's curt reply. "Oh look. The Suit." Mozzie said as though the words had an unpleasant taste. Neal followed Mozzie's line of sight and saw Peter sitting eating a sandwich at a sidewalk café.

Mozzie sighed. "I suppose you'll want to stop and talk your Fed friend." He said belligerently but to his surprise Neal ducked his head to one side and hurried his pace till they were out of sight.

"The Suit still mad at you?" Mozzie asked.

"What?" Neal said. "Why would he be mad, Mozz?" Neal feigned confusion, then said, "Oh! You mean for that time only two days ago when I woke him and half the New York office at 3 am to come and see a body that wasn't there? Why would he still be mad about that?"

Mozzie sniffed. "There's no need to be snippy."

Neal sighed. "I think I'd be happier if he were just mad but Peter's got it in his head that I'm traumatized over Kate's death."

"Yeah," Mozzie said flatly. "Because that's such a stretch."

Neal frowned. "It's messing with my day, my September 6, 2010."

"What does that even mean?" Mozzie exhaled, exasperated.

"I only get one September 6, 2010, Mozzie. This is the only time in my life it will be September 6, 2010. I need to make it the best September 6, 2010 I can make it and this whole weirdness with that …" Neal stopped abruptly at Mozzie's warning look. "All that craziness," Neal amended. " is messing with my day."

"Oh crap." Mozzie said. "Neal, please for me, please don't do anything stupid."

"What are you talking about, Mozz?" Neal glanced in the direction Mozzie had been staring moments before and stopped dead in his tracks. A dark man in an Italian suit was walking down the street carrying a briefcase…a briefcase with a rather distinctive black stripe down the middle and a scratch on the clasp.

"Mozz." Neal said and his friend winced at the tone. "Get ready, we're doing a Fashion Week Flip."

Mozzie looked crestfallen but dutifully followed Neal's lead.

"Okay, you're the talker. I'll make the grab." Neal said as the man in the Italian suit stopped at a news stand.

"Alright." Mozzie relented. "But I want it on record I thought this was a bad idea."

"Noted." Neal said. "Go."

Mozzie walked off muttering. "Just like I thought going back to the construction site was a bad idea and opening the case was a bad idea and…"

Neal watched as Mozzie greeted the man in the Italian suit and introduced himself as a survey taker for a fashion magazine. He pointed to a bored looking woman down the street and explained that she was his partner. It was her job to pick out very well dressed men with whom Mozzie could conduct his survey and she was very picky so would the guy please take just a minute of his time to answer some questions about his attire. As usual, flattery went a long way. The man set his briefcase down on the pavement and while he was distracted answering Mozzie's fashion related questions Neal casually walked by him and picked up the case.

Once Neal had rounded the corner he broke into a trot heading straight for the café at which he and Mozzie had spotted Peter eating lunch. He rushed to Peter's table with the case.

"Peter," He smiled. "I got the case."

Peter looked surprised and slightly annoyed. "Hello to you to, Neal. It's a nice day, isn't it? I'm enjoying a nice lunch", Peter's voice grew stern, "and what are you talking about?"

"Yeah, sorry to bust in but this is important." Neal pushed Peter's lunch aside and placed the case on the table in front of him. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Neal, what are you doing?"

"I found the case!" Neal said. "Remember I told you we went back to site and found a case with a hand in it?"

Peter dropped his arms in a gesture of defeat. "Yeah, there goes my appetite. Who is we? You said you went back to the site."

"Uh," Neal blinked. "Did I say we? Wow, that's weird. You know what I mean. Just open the case!"

"Where did you get this?" Peter said, lifting the case slightly from the table and examining it.

"I snatched it from a guy in an Italian suit down the street." Neal said honestly.

Peter dropped the case.

"What?" He fairly exploded.

"Open the case, Peter." Neal insisted.

"Neal," Peter was earnest now. "Neal, do you understand what you've done? This is theft, clear and simple. They'll send you back to jail for this."

"Peter, listen to me." Neal said, just as earnest. "There was a hand in this case not two days ago. A hand in the place I found a body. Something very, very bad is going on so you need to open. this. case."

Peter seemed to be effected by Neal's intensity and gave the case another look.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to." Peter said after a moment. "It's locked."

"Piece of cake." Neal said and pulled out his lock picking tools.

"Oh good lord." Peter sighed then he started as an unfamiliar voice intruded on their conversation.

"Excuse me," said a dark man wearing an Italian suit obviously trying to get their attention. "Excuse me, but I think you have my attaché case."

Peter paled and looked at Neal who glared at the newcomer.

"Peter," Neal said slowly but firmly. "Open that case."

Peter picked up the case and, to Neal's horror, started to offer it to the man in the Italian suit. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr?"

"Businelli, Marco Businelli." The man smiled and offered his hand to Peter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Businelli, I'm Peter Burke with the FBI and this is a colleague of mine, Neal Caffrey."

"FBI?" Businelli looked concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"No." Peter shook his head and glanced at Neal with a forced smile. "Nope. Just a misunderstanding…"

"Peter open that briefcase." Neal said desperately.

"Neal, stop it." Peter said fiercely. "If you push this I won't be able to protect you."

"Make him open the case." Neal said, looking directly at Businelli who, Peter had to admit, seemed a bit nervous.

"Why does he say that?" was Businelli's nervous response. "I have nothing interesting that anyone would want to see in my case. It isn't for you to look in it." He insisted.

Peter considered for a moment. Something was definitely off. "Sir, If you don't mind, I'd like you to open it."

"But I do mind." Businelli said.

"I thought you said you had nothing to hide." Neal crowed.

Businelli looked frightened. "But I don't I just, I just…I um I am afraid I have forgotten the key in my hotel room." He finished with relief.

"Not a problem." Neal said, and smiling pulled back out his tools. He had unlocked the case in a matter of seconds and Peter started to reach for the clasps.

"Careful." Neal said then. "There's a scratch on the left one, it'll cut you if you're not careful." And he held up the barely healed scratch on his left thumb.

Peter felt the rough gouge and carefully opened the clasp so as to avoid a similar injury. As he slowly lifted the lid of the case he watched Businelli whose eyes were darting this way and that in a panicked fashion.

Finally the case was open. Peter stared at the contents for a long moment and slammed the case closed.

"Mr. Businelli, I don't know what to say. I am so sorry." Peter quickly handed the case back to the blushing man.

"It is no matter." The Italian said quickly.

"Peter!" Neal fairly whined.

"Neal, shut up." Peter hissed and turned back to Businelli. The case had contained a pair of shoes, red leather heels to be exact, in a very large size.

"It's my duty to inform you that you have the right to file a complaint but let me just say, my colleague has been through a very rough period and if you could just let this go I'd really appreciate it." He turned and gave an indignant Neal a very meaningful look. "It won't happen again."

"Well," Businelli said quickly. "I am to assume all circumstance would be included in any complaint to be filed and I am thinking perhaps it is best to forget this."

Peter smiled and shook the man's hand. "Thank you for understanding, sir." He said and continued to smile as Businelli made his way down the street. When the man turned the corner he quietly exploded.

"Neal! What are you thinking?" Peter hissed.

"You shook his hand?" Neal hissed back. "He's dirty, Peter! Everything about him is dirty!"

Peter shook his head. "Neal, you're coming undone."

Neal grabbed Peter's arm and then quickly let go at Peter's angry look and held up his hands in a mollifying gesture.

"Peter listen to me." He said and then gestured to himself, smiling. "I'm not crazy."

"I never said you were crazy, Neal." Peter insisted.

"Okay, traumatized, whatever." Neal sighed. "Potato, Potahto. Same difference. The point is, I'm not making this up. He's in on it. The whole thing. He's trying to make me look crazy."

Peter shook his head. "Why, Neal? What possible reason could that man have to make you look crazy?"

"I don't know, Peter but it's what he's doing. I swear!" Neal said, growing desperate.

Peter was still for a long moment then seemed to come to decision. "Neal, I'm putting you on a leave of absence."

"A what?" Neal said, suddenly nervous. "You're sending me back?"

"No," Peter shook his head. "I'm not sending you back to prison but I'm taking you off the current case. You need some time to relax and come to terms with what happened to Kate, its effecting your judgment, Neal. It's making you downright paranoid." Peter gave Neal a look. "You're making Mozzie look downright trusting."

"Peter, I had plenty of time to think about what happened the months I was locked up after Kate died. Believe me. I don't need a leave of absence." Neal said with what he hoped was a confident smile.

"Sometimes these things take time." Peter insisted. "Look at you! You're seeing dead bodies. Nabbing random stranger's briefcases. If I don't do this Neal you're gonna be back in prison by the end of the week and there will be nothing, _nothing_ I can do about it."

Neal looked away, his lips stretched thin.

"This is for your own good, Neal." Peter said sadly. "Take some time. It's not a request."

Peter left a twenty on the table and walked to his car.

"I'll check on you later." He called as he shut the car door but Neal didn't answer.

Neal walked slowly to the curb and wondered exactly what he was meant to do with himself on this leave of absence when a voice from behind him startled him.

"A nice chap that Agent Burke." Businelli said, suddenly speaking in a clipped British accent. He turned and gloated at Neal's shocked expression.

"A bit gullible though, don't you think?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: Okay, I've re-written part of this chapter based on a review by Ultracape. I happened to agree with a comment they made and hope this clears up the problem at least a little bit. It seems with this story I've needed a lot more help from my friends. =) I hope they will always feel free to make constructive comments and criticisms. **

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"OK, Who are you?" Neal demanded.

"I'm the man that just made you look a fool to your FBI friend." The man smirked. "But that would take a bit long to say, wouldn't it? Let's just stick with Businelli, shall we?"

"Fine." Neal said. "Question Two: Why are you doing this?"

"Well, dear boy, I have some business to conduct in your fair city and the word has gone out that business in New York is, well, bad."

Neal smiled.

"Yes," Businelli sighed. "You may well smile because the word is also out that it is due in large part to one Agent Burke and his pet con man. Burke was bad enough on his own but since he added you to his team he's made business in New York intolerable. I decided if I were to conduct my business here, which sadly was unavoidable, I had to first eliminate you."

Neal swallowed. "Not that I'm complaining but, why didn't you handle it the old fashioned way?"

Businelli frowned, "You mean," He made a swiping gesture across his neck. "What is it they say, 'Take you out?'"

"Yeah." Neal answered.

Businelli clucked his tongue disdainfully. "Violence is such a crude way to solve a problem. If the only way you can win the game is through violence, well, what's the point of playing?"

"I'm not sure the fellow in the drainage pipe would agree." Neal said.

"Ah, Fredrick." Businelli sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid I won't be shedding any tears for Freddy and I doubt anyone else will be either."

"I thought you said you didn't like violence?" Neal countered.

"I said I didn't like resorting to violence to solve a problem." Businelli corrected. "As a punishment," He spread his hands and smilled. "it has no equal."

Neal fought the urge to swallow.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Caffrey." Businelli said with what appeared to be genuine pleasure. "You were one of the best. A pity you've become so…" He seemed to search for the right term. "domesticated." He finally finished.

"I was never one of the best, Businelli." Neal smiled. "I AM the best and I'm going to bring you down."

Businelli sighed and looked over his sunglasses at Neal as though explaining something to an especially slow child. "My dear boy, haven't you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf? Well," He made a circular gesture with both his fingers. "that was the point of these little exercises. Your Agent friend has been put in a nasty position twice in as many days because of you, because he listened to you. At this point I very much think you could catch me read handed with every detail of my brilliant plan explained in short order and you'd ruddy well have to tell it to the wall."

He pushed his glasses back into place and checked his watch in a dismissive fashion. "Face facts, Mr. Caffrey. In every fight there is a winner and a loser and I have won this fight."

He started to walk down the street but called over his shoulder.

"Good luck in your future endeavors. Oh, and enjoy your little holiday." He turned,smiled smugly. "I assure you I will." Then he was gone.

Neal silently fumed a long moment then pulled out his mobile.

"Mozz, tell me you see him." Neal said as Mozzie answered his phone.

"I suppose you want me to follow this creep." Mozzie sighed.

"Mozzie" Neal began to plead.

"And I don't suppose it would do any good to point out this is a bad idea." Mozzie continued.

"Mozz" Neal said simply. "I really need this."

Mozzie's voice sounded resigned. "I'll follow him home and report back to you."

Neal grinned. "Mozzie, you're the best."

"Uh-huh." Mozzie didn't sound convinced and hung up the phone.

Neal watched as Businelli turned a corner several blocks down the street and a small figure darted across on the opposite side.

_This fight isn't over, you smug bastard. _Neal thought and slowly smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the delay with the update. I'm still in D.C. and have been very busy. BUT, while I was at the American History Museum I saw Saul Rubinek, who plays Artie on the show Warehouse 13 and that was very cool but also kind of creepy. I mean, there I was in the middle of a bunch of old stuff with Artie standing 10 or 20 feet from me. =) Anyway, I finally got a minute to write and a wifi connection that worked and Viola, another chapter gets posted. Thanks so much for reading and I hope I can post some more soon. **

* * *

Elizabeth Burke came down the stairs of the townhouse she shared with her husband, Special Agent Peter Burke and paused a moment. Peter was sitting to one side of the couch, absently petting the dog. She suppressed a sigh. He was clearly worried about something.

"Hey, Babe." She called as she entered the living room. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, nothin'." Peter said. "I'm just thinking."

Elizabeth sat on the couch and smiled. "About?"

Peter smiled a little shame facedly. "Something that's going on with Neal."

Elizabeth frowned. "Is he okay?"

"That's the thing," Peter said. "I'm not sure. Something is up. It's got Neal acting strangely."

Elizabeth smiled. "I thought Neal always acted strangely."

Peter laughed. "Well, stranger than usual."

"How strange is stranger than usual?"

"Well, reporting dead bodies that aren't there and then, on the same day, a dismembered hand, then only a day or two later stealing some random person's briefcase to prove he was right about the first two."

"Wow," Elizabeth blinked. "That sounds pretty serious. Is Neal okay? I mean, he's not…"

"No, no." Peter assured her. "He's not going back to prison. I pulled him off duty to try to keep him from digging himself any deeper. Hughes went along with it because I said it was stress related to the explosion but I don't know how long that'll hold up. The only reason Neal's not wearing orange right now is because the guy didn't press charges."

"That was lucky." Elizabeth said.

Peter chuckled. "Well, there were extenuating circumstances."

"What?" Elizabeth asked. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Peter's smile slipped away. "Something's not right here though, El. I can feel it. I know it's there I just can't put my finger on it."

"It'll come to you." Elizabeth reassured. "Just give it a little time and don't concentrate on it so hard. You'll get it. You always do."

Peter looked at her and smiled. "I love you."

"Oh, Honey." Elizabeth said. "I love me, too." Then she laughed as he wacked her over the head with a couch pillow.

* * *

Neal jumped up at the knock on the door and hurried to let Mozz in.

"You're new friend is staying at the Algonquin." Mozzie declared as he arrowed toward the table.

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Well, at least he's showing an appreciation for the city's history."

Mozzie snorted. "Please, you don't get a sense of this City's history by staying in a tourist trap of a fancy hotel."

"The Algonquin isn't exactly a Motel with the world's largest Peanut, Mozz." Neal argued.

"In my opinion, it's the five start version." Mozzie stated flatly.

Neal shook his head and smiled. "We'll just agree to disagree."

"Don't we always?" Mozzie said with a flip of his right hand as he headed to the wine wrack.

"Businelli didn't spot you, did he?"

"You know, if you're just going to insult me, I'll leave." Mozzie huffed. "Of course, he didn't see me."

"Okay, okay." Neal smiled. "Any idea what he might be doing here?"

Mozzie blinked. "From tailing him to his hotel?" Mozzie put on an exaggeratedly pensive expression. "Let me think. What does staying at the Algonquin say? Art theft or bond forgery?" He said slowly.

"Okay, Mozz. I'm sorry." Neal sighed. Then, carefully looking down he said, "I'm sorry I overestimated you."

"Nice try." Mozzie said. "I'm not falling for it. Italian Suit made you look bad. I get that you wanna even the scales but let's not forget this guy said 'Hi' with a severed hand. There are times when it's best to just take it on the chin and walk away."

Neal scowled. "I wanna get this guy, Mozz."

Mozzie sighed. "If he's smart, and he is, he'll have whatever job he's planned ready to go as soon as you're out of play. I figure you've got 24 to 36 hours." He seemed to consider this. "Maybe a maximum of 72. In which time you need to one…" Mozzie began ticking off points on his fingers. "…find out what he wants to do. 2 how he plans to do it. 3 if he has help and finally the small matter of figuring out how to stop him."

Neal was frowning.

"I mean, face facts, Neal," Mozzie said. "It's not happening."

Neal's head snapped up. "That's what he said, 'Face Facts'"

Mozzie closed his eyes. "Can we just pretend I happened to use a different phrase to state the obvious and NOT go after the guy with a penchant for dismembering people?"

Neal was still for a long moment then said, "What's our real problem here?"

"Where do you want me to start?" Mozzie asked and lifted his hands as though preparing to tick off points again.

"No, no. Mozz," Neal grunted. "That's okay I don't need to hear it again."

Neal paced behind the table as Mozzie finally decided on a bottle, uncorked it and poured himself a glass. He sat and watched Neal for a moment or two before exclaiming, "Would you cut it out? You're making me nervous."

Neal snorted. "You're always nervous."

"And apparently with good reason." Mozzie stated. "After all, we now know that briefcase falling out of that car in front of me was no accident. How many other things do I take for granted that are actually part of various devious and orchestrated plots?"

"Mozz, a briefcase full of money landing at your feet is a little more suspicious than you forgetting when your milk expired."

"I didn't forget!" Mozzie barked. "I remember distinctly that when I bought that bottle of milk the expiration date was Auguest 18th. A mere two weeks later and suddenly the expiration date is August 8th."

"Yes, and now I need a key to get a snack at your place."

"You can never be too careful, Neal." Mozzie stated and took a sip of his wine.

"Or too paranoid." Neal muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

Neal sighed and began to pace again.

"Stop that." Mozzie sighed. "Look, just forget about Italian Suit. Whatever he's here to do, it's not going to hurt us."

"But it did hurt us, Mozz." Neal grunted. "Well, not you but he made me look bad."

"To your FBI friends." Mozzie said flatly. "What a tragedy."

"Mozz, don't do that." Neal sighed. "Don't make like it's nothing because it's important to me. I…I'm just starting to get to the point I feel like I fit in. They were finally starting to treat me like just another part of the team and now I'm probably back to square one. That's the real problem here. Peter doesn't trust me because of Businelli."

Neal grasped the back of the chair opposite Mozzie. "He just waltzes in and in less than three days he erases what it took me almost a year to earn." Neal shook his head. "No, Mozz, I won't let that go. I can't."

Mozzie sighed. "Neal, I didn't mean to disparage your insane attachment to the government stooges you've been traipsing around with lately. It doesn't change the fact that there is no way we can take this guy down."

Neal seemed to consider this for a moment.

"What if we don't have to?" He said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Mozzie asked.

"What if we don't have to catch him in the act?"

"Thank you for clarifying that." Mozzie said dryly. "It all makes perfect sense now."

Neal was smiling, oblivious to the heavy sarcasm. "Mozz, what if we just arranged the crime for him?"

Mozzie frowned. "You mean, a Cowboy Switch?"

Neal hit the table excitedly. "Exactly!"

"How could we set up a job that fast?"

Neal was still smiling. "It doesn't have to be something new." He said. "And I owe a friend a favor."

"I thought cryptic was my thing." Mozzie complained.


	7. Chapter 7

**So sorry for all the delays in posting updates. I've been insanely busy these past few days. I hope everyone likes the latest WC recurring character as much as I do because she makes an appearance in this chapter. =)**

**P.S. This chapter has been updated to correct an embarassing spelling mistake and to correct something that was bugging me about Neal's exchange with Amy, the hotel clerk. I didn't feel like he'd had any real rapport with her. So, hopefully I corrected that.**

* * *

Neal approached the valet booth with a quick glance at Mozzie who nodded subtly before approaching the young man at the booth.

"Can I help you, sir?" The young man said unprompted as soon as he spotted Mozzie.

_Good service._ Neal thought.

"I hope so." Mozzie huffed. "Are you a manager?"

Neal had to hand it to him, the kid's smile never dropped, just a hint of "Oh, crap" in the edges of his eyes for a fragment of a moment and then he was the picture of concerned yet cheerful helpfulness.

"No, sir. I'm not a manager and I'd be happy to get a manager for you right away but first would you let me see if I can solve your problem for you without any delay?"

_Definitely good service._ Neal thought. This kid was good. He was also, fortunately, distracted and didn't notice Neal stoop down, ostensibly to tie his shoe and come up with a valet ticket that had been discarded in the valet booth waste basket.

Neal walked into the impressive lobby of the hotel and confidently approached the guest services counter with the electronic key card he'd lifted from a departing guest. The clerk smiled as he approached and greeted him with the same cheerful courtesy Mozzie had received from the valet.

"Good Morning, sir. My name is Amy. How can I help you enjoy New York today?" She fairly trilled.

Neal found the smile he'd imagined he'd have to fake coming unbidden to his lips.

"Hi, Amy." Neal said still marveling at how far simply repeating a person's name back to them would take you. "I'm a guest of the hotel and I have a little problem."

"Well, we can't allow that, sir." Amy giggled and Neal noticed that she covered her mouth. "What can I do to make your day better?"

"You can tell me why you're covering up such a pretty smile." Neal charmed.

Amy blushed and confessed. "I don't like my teeth."

"Aw." Neal scoffed.

"Oh, they're horrible." Amy said earnestly.

"Don't believe it for a second." Neal persisted. "Lemme see."

Amy shook her head, still blushing.

"What do I have to do?" Neal teased. "Do I have to sing? I can do a pretty good tap dance, too." He feigned puzzlement. "At least I think I still can."

Amy laughed, forgetting for the moment to cover her mouth. Neal saw that she had a slight snaggle tooth next to her left incisor.

"Wait, wait, wait." Neal blustered. "Is that little thing what all the fuss is about?"

Amy almost gasped and covered her mouth again but Neal protested. "Amy, your smile is beautiful. You glow."

Amy rolled her eyes at him but Neal insisted. "No, you really do. You shouldn't go covering that up."

Amy ducked her head but when she smiled her hand stayed on the keyboard. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. Um, what did you need help with?"

Neal smiled, "Well, Amy, I'm staying with a friend but we're in separate rooms. We were going over some numbers in his room this morning and I went down to pull yesterday's numbers out of the car." Neal held up the valet ticket, "They weren't there, though. I must have left then in my room but when I tried to get back in the key didn't work."

Neal ducked his eyes down and smiled again, this time self-consciously. "I think I must have picked up his key by mistake. Is there any way I can get this recoded to my room? If I have to go back up there and knock on his door to get my key he's gonna own me."

Amy smiled with her hands busily typing on the keyboard. "That won't be a problem, sir. I'll just make a new room key for you. What was your room number?"

Neal grinned.

* * *

Neal glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mozzie wasn't visible before opening the door to his rooms. His eyebrows shot up for the briefest of seconds before a practiced smile formed on his lips.

"Sara, what a pleasant surprise."

"Are you messing with me, Caffrey." Sara snapped.

"Um," Neal feigned ignorance. "I don't this so." He sighed and as Sara Ellis, insurance inspector extraordinaire brushed angrily past him said. "Why don't you come in, Sara? Make yourself at home."

"I know this was you." Sara fumed, holding out a flyer.

Neal took the flyer and made a show of examining it. It was advertising the theft of the Raphael painting Sara was tasked with finding and offering a reward for information leading to it's recovery. "Oh yeah, I've been putting these up." Neal smiled, shrugging. "I'm old school and I have reason to believe it might be in New York."

"Oh!" Sara feigned delighted surprise. "Me, too!"

"Really?" Neal smiled.

"Uh-huh," Sara continued to smile. "You know why?"

Neal shook his head.

"I think it's in New York, Caffrey," Sara's smile dropped like a ships anchor into the depths of a fierce scowl. "because _you're_ in New York and I KNOW YOU TOOK IT!"

Neal widened his eyes and shrugged. " I don't know what to tell you, Sara."

"I did you a solid, Caffrey." Sara said. "You owe me. The least you could do is stop rubbing the Raphael in my face."

Neal held up his hands in a pacifying gesture and tried his best to look sincere. "Sara, I promise that's not what I'm doing. I know you don't believe me but I really, honestly am trying to get that painting back to you. Trust me."

Sara snorted.

"Please?" Neal said with his most charming smile.

Sara barked a quick laugh and then scowled as though annoyed the laugh had escaped.

"Well, since you said please." She said with saccharine sweetness. Then rolled her eyes and charged at the door like a bull in Pamplona. She jerked it open and then paused in the doorway.

"I'm going to get that painting, Caffrey." She said looking directly into his eyes. "And I'm going to get you."

Neal grinned. "Well, I'm sure you're half right."

Sara smiled and called over her shoulder, "I always get my man, Caffrey."

When he was certain she was gone Neal called to Mozzie who emerged from his hiding place with a small device in his hand. He held his finger over his lips and scanned everywhere Sara had been near in her brief visit.

Neal rolled his eyes when Mozzie declared the room clear. "Really, Mozz? You thought she was planting a bug?"

Mozzie was unapologetic. "It's what I would do."

Neal thought about that for a minute before admitting it was what he'd have done, too.

"So, it seems like step two is going well." Neal commented.

"Yes," Mozzie said slowly. "I love it when a plan comes together."

"Okay, that's just cheesy."

There was another knock on the door. Mozzie grunted, annoyed.

"Really? Since when did you become so popular?" He whined as he trotted back to his hiding place.

"It's not my fault you feel the need to hide." Neal muttered.

"We're in the middle of a heist, Neal." Mozzie stage whispered. "We can't be seen together."

"It's probably just Sara back for another zinger. I'll get rid of her as fast as possible." Neal whispered back.

But as he opened the door, his eyebrows shot up.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing at the Algonquin yesterday?" Peter said as he brushed past a startled Neal.

"No one waits for an invitation anymore." Neal sighed and closed the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Woof. Third hotel room in as many days. At least in this one I have a good wifi connection and a moment's peace to write. I hope you like the latest installment. The end is nigh. =)**

* * *

Neal suppressed a grin as Peter fumed in his typical 'I'm mad at Neal' posture: Hands on hips, lips pursed and head down.

"Hi, Peter. How have you been?" Neal said amiably.

Peter grunted.

"I've been doing great, Neal." Neal said in a gruff almost muffled voice. "The guys at the office sure miss you. How've you been doing since I put you on a time out?"

"Cut the crap, Neal." Peter said. "Answer my question. What were you doing at the Algonquin?"

Neal pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. He gestured at the chair opposite him but Peter ignored him.

Neal sighed. "I was visiting a friend, Peter. That's all."

"Uh-huh," Peter said, nodding angrily, "and this friend of yours wouldn't happen to be a briefcase toting Italian, would he?"

Neal said nothing.

"Damn it, Neal!" Peter exploded. "Do you _want_ to go back to go back to jail?"

"What?" Neal said innocently. "Peter, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Don't give me that, Neal. When whatever you've got planned goes down at that hotel, the FBI is gonna be able to pull your anklet data. If something happens at the Algonquin they'll be able to place you at the scene."

"Why would anything of interest to the FBI be happening at the Algonquin?" Neal asked innocently.

"Neal."

"Peter."

The two men stared at each other a long moment.

"Don't shut me out here." Peter said finally, almost pleading. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

For the first time, a hard edge entered Neal's voice. He was still smiling but it felt wrong, as out of place amid his icy expression as the Mona Lisa would be on the wall of a truck stop restroom.

"I did tell you what was going on, Peter." Neal said with steely charm. "You benched me. So, you'll excuse me if a play the rest of the game using my playbook."

Peter sighed. "Look, I know I was wrong about the Italian."

Neal registered surprise. "You do? How?"

Peter reached out and picked up Neal's left hand.

"Um, Peter." Neal frowned. "Is holding hands going to be a new thing with us because, honestly, it's making me a little uncomfortable."

Peter rolled his eyes and simply directed Neal's attention to the pad of his thumb where the scratch from a few days ago was still visible.

"I knew something was off." Peter said. "But it took me a day or two to realize that when you warned me about the clasp and showed me your thumb, the cut on your finger was at least a day old. Which means you had opened that same case more than a day before you plunked it down on my lunch table. Besides, if you'd have opened the case that morning, you'd have known there were only shoes in it and not insisted I open it."

Neal smiled. "Peter, when you do things like this it makes me feel so much better about being caught by you."

"Twice." Peter reminded him.

Neal sighed.

"So?" Peter huffed.

Neal raised his eyebrows, equally expectant. "So?"

Peter closed his eyes for a slow ten count. "So, Neal, what are you doing about the guy in the Italian Suit?"

"Oh!" Neal said. "Oh, you don't have to worry about him. It's taken care of."

Peter raised his eyebrows for a moment as expectant as Neal had been moments before but Neal offered no new information. "Taken care of? What does that mean, 'Taken care of'?"

Neal wrinkled his nose. "It's really better I don't tell you."

"Neal, stay away from that hotel." Peter said with a warning finger. "I mean it. Let us take care of this guy."

"Trust me, Peter." Neal said with a smile. "I won't go anywhere near the Algonquin. Scouts honor."

"You were a scout?" Peter asked.

"No, but it sounds good."

An odd noise that sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh came from Neal's closet.

Peter looked a question at Neal who appeared to suddenly find the ceiling tiles fascinating.

* * *

Peter was sitting at his desk trying not to think about Neal and the things Neal swore he wasn't doing when Agent Diana Barrigan stuck her head into his office and announced, "Hughes wants to see you."

"You know what about?" Peter asked warily.

Diana shrugged. "No clue, Boss but he does have a guest."

Peter peered curiously toward Hughes' office and his face fell when he saw Hughes' guest: Sara Ellis.

"Peter," Hughes called warmly as Peter entered the office. "I think you remember Sara Ellis?"

"Yeah," Peter said shaking Sara's hand. "Yeah, I remember. How've you found being resurrected?"

Sara smiled. "It's been interesting."

Hughes cleared his throat. "Sara's here about business, Peter. A Raphael painted that went missing several years ago."

"Oh, it didn't go missing, it was stolen." Sara said with a smile. "And I've got good reason to believe it's been located."

Peter fought the urge to close his eyes and tried to keep his voice even when he said, "Located? Where? How'd you come by this information?"

Sara's expression became, well, odd was the only way Peter could describe it but she pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Peter.

_Have you seen this painting?_ The flyer queried over a photograph of the Raphael. _This painting is very special to us and was stolen. Please, if you have any information contact Sara Ellis at 555-2323. We are offering a $10,000 reward for information leading to it's recovery._

"A flyer?" Peter asked.

Sara smiled an odd smile. "Well, it's old school but it seems to have worked. A maid at a local hotel contacted me and swears she saw the Raphael when she was cleaning a room yesterday. According to the hotel, the guest to whom the room is registered is booked through the week."

This time Peter did close his eyes but only for a moment. "You'd need a warrant to check it out."

Sara held up a folded piece of paper. "Signed, sealed and delivered. I just came by because it seemed fair. I accussed Caffrey so many times."

Sara's smile let Peter know she still believed Neal had something to do with the theft. "I thought he should be there when justice was served."

Hughes seemed happy. "I think we should call Caffrey back. He's had a few days to calm down and get things sorted out. I think a little vindication might be just what the doctor ordered."

Peter fumbled for an answer. "Sir, I'm not sure that's the best..."

Hughes waved him off. "I've already had Agent Jones run down to fetch him. Shall we, Ms. Ellis?" Hughes gestured to the door of his office. As she walked out ahead of them Hughes leaned toward Peter and muttered, "It's not every day one of these cocky insurance investigators admits to the FBI they were wrong. I'd like to revel in that a bit. Get Caffrey."

Peter nodded but was worrying that soon Hughes would be saying the words 'Get Caffrey' in a completely different context.


	9. Chapter 9

**This is a quick chapter. I really wanted to finish tonight but I'm just zonked and have a 16 hour day to look forward to tomorrow. I'm hoping I'll find some time to write the final chapter but it might not come until Monday. **

* * *

Since Sara's car was in the much more easily accessible visitor parking, she insisted on Peter riding with her. Peter fidgeted nervously in the passenger's seat of Sara's sporty Mazda RX-8.

She glanced at him. "Something wrong with your seat?"

"What?" Peter asked. "Oh! Oh, no. No, it's fine. It's comfy, lots of leg room."

Sara shifted and maneuvered aggressively into an almost non-existent gap in the left lane. "That's because it was designed for a man. This is a guy's car."

"A guy's car?" Peter asked.

Sara smiled. "Yeah, a car the manufacturers assume a man will drive. Check it out."

Sara reached her hand for the cup holder in the center console behind the stick shift. Her arm was bent almost backward in a clearly awkward position.

She laughed. "I have trouble reaching it because whoever designed the car never really expected the driver's seat to be pulled up this close to the pedals."

"Then why drive it?" Peter asked.

"Listen." Sara smiled, gunning the engine which made a smooth whirring sound with a steady increase in volume Peter had to admit was different from any other engine he could remember hearing. "It's a rotary engine." Sara explained. "I had the triple rotor engine installed. It increases the horsepower but it's low end torque, _much_ better than a turbo. I mean," She glanced at Peter conspiratorially, "What's the good of extra power if it doesn't kick in until you're going over 70, right?"

Peter inadvertently gripped the door as Sara once again weaved deftly into a spot that would have made Peter's Taurus literally scream at him.

"Why not get a Porsche or BMW?" Peter asked. "Hell, with your salary I wouldn't be surprised if you could afford a Lamborghini."

Sara shrugged. "They're all great cars I suppose but deep down they're all the same. Different versions of the same old piston engine people have been driving around for the past century. This is different, unique. I like that. I like to color outside the lines once in a while. I'm not going to give up on that just because some pinhead designer is a chauvanist."

"I guess that answers my question." Peter said.

"What question?" Sara frowned.

"I wondered a couple times why you didn't get into law enforcement. You'd be a heck of a White Collar agent."

"Thank you." Sara smiled. "So, what was your conclusion?"

"Well, I thought maybe the money but that didn't seem to fit. Now, I think you've got a little too much of that 'outside the lines' in you to toe the line in the Bureau. You're more like Neal, a free spirit."

"Thanks." Sara laughed. "I think."

"Oh, it's a compliment. Believe me."

"Well," Sara called, "We're here."

Peter almost gulped. The conversation and Sara's driving had actually distracted him from what they were about to do but as he looked at the hotel he became so confused he forgot to be apprehensious.

"Wait a minute," He said. "This isn't the Algonquin."

Sara frowned. "The Algonquin? Who said anything about the Algonquin? The painting was spotted here, at the Plaza."

Peter fought the urge to shake himself.

"Um," He stalled, trying to think of a response. "I guess I got my wires crossed."

Peter looked toward the entrance of the hotel and saw Neal standing next to Agent Clinton Jones. Neal caught sight of him and waved with a cheerful smile and a familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye.

When Peter approached, Neal leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, Peter. Everything's under control."

Peter honestly didn't know if he should be relieved or more concerned.

"Well, gentlemen." Sara called happily. "Let's go serve a warrant."

Neal trotted ahead, grabbing the door before the doorman had a chance and bowed Sara though with a, "After you." and a wink.


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, I'm home! I finished the story last night but I decided I didn't like the ending so I re-wrote it. Then I decided to wait until I could read it again a little more awake before posting it. I continue to think this is a better ending but am, as always, open to constructive criticism. Thanks for reading this far and I hope you like the finale.**

* * *

The group that waited for the elevator was composed of an anxious Peter, a suspicious Sara, a satisfied Hughes, a curious Jones, an excited hotel manager and a positively giddy Neal.

"What are you so happy about?" Sara finally asked.

"What?" Neal asked, all innocence. "We're catching bad guys, reclaiming stolen property. I can't be happy about that?"

Sara eyed him for a moment before shaking her head. "Nope, something's up. You've got that look on your face."

"What look?" Neal asked, genuinely curious.

"The one that makes me wanna double check my purse and make sure nothing's missing." She shot back as the doors to the elevator opened.

Neal gestured and began to open his mouth but was cut off by Sara's, "I swear Caffrey, if you say 'After you' again, I will smack the silly out of you."

"That would take a lot of smacking." Peter huffed.

"You know you really shouldn't gang up on people like that." Neal said with such a martyred air that Peter laughed despite his anxiety. Sara joined in and Neal sighed heavily but the smile wasn't far away and made a triumphant reappearance when the elevator dinged it's arrival.

"Oh for Pete's sake," Sara snorted. "You're all but rubbing your hands together. What is going on? Why are you so excited?"

Neal's eyebrows shot up. "It's just a great day to be a good guy. What can I say? I'm really happy for you, Sara."

Sara snorted again and Neal shook his head and sniffed. "So rude."

The elevator stopped a bit prematurely and Neal frowned holding out an imperious hand to the older couple waiting there. "Sorry, folks." Neal puffed. "Police business. You'll have to catch the next one."

The doors closed on the impressed tourists and Neal turned to Peter with an enormous grin. "That was fun."

Peter put his face in his hand and Jones tried his best not to laugh.

The elevator finally arrived on the correct floor and the odd group filed out. Neal tried to skip ahead preparing to knock on the door but Peter grabbed his arm with a disapproving look.

"Fine." Neal huffed. "You do it." And stepped back.

As Peter knocked and called out, "FBI, we have a warrant. Open the door." He heard Neal mutter, "…never let me do any of the fun stuff."

After a pause, when there was no answer Peter gave a nod to the manager who had been standing with a key ready. He swiped the door open and was hurriedly pushed back as the agents quickly entered the room guns drawn calling, "FBI! We're serving a warrant. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Neal was forced to hang back and wait for Peter's call of "All clear."

He rushed forward into the hotel suite with Sara fighting to keep level with him, her eyes darting around the room.

"Caffrey!" 'Businelli fairly exploded upon seeing Neal.

Hughes had by this time entered the room. "You know this man, Caffrey?" He asked looking suspiciously not at Neal but at Businelli.

"Honest truth, sir." Neal said with a smile. "I don't even know his name."

Businelli silently fumed.

Hughes looked for a moment from Neal's smirk to Businelli's scowl before turning his attention to Sara.

"So, do you see the painting?"

"Painting?" Businelli asked but Sara ignored him.

She approached the painting hung on the wall above the elegant sofa, her face a study of concentration.

Neal followed a half a step behind, squinting furiously at the painting.

Hughes watched the two experts for a long moment and was completely shocked when Sara growled, "You bastard!" and struck Neal with her handbag.

"What?" Neal cried backing away but Sara followed and continued to pummel him.

"How'd you do this?" She barked. "I know it was you! *whack* How'd you do it? *whack* I know *whack* you *whack* took *whack* this *whack*painting!"

"Peter!" Neal shouted backing around the room trying to dodge Sara's well aimed blows. "Help! Hey! This is police brutality!"

Peter dead panned, "She's not a police officer, Neal."

"Fine!" Neal cried. "It's just plain old brutality. Just get her off of me."

"Sara." Peter called with a disapproving look.

"Fine." She huffed and lowered her purse but Neal remained in a defensive posture for a moment more, peeking at Sara from behind his raised arms. He finally lowered them and started straightening his jacket sleeves.

"It's not my fault you were wrong." He pouted. "I put up the flyers. I was _trying_ to be _nice_."

"Well," a smooth voice interjected. "Not that this hasn't been entertaining, but may I remind you that this is a public room and the chances of you tying this painting exclusively to me are astronomical. I'd like to take the first opportunity to contact my lawyer with whom, I am sure, you will all become very well acquainted after I file a lawsuit for harassment against you."

"Oh, we would." Peter said. "There's just one problem."

"And what might that be?" Businelli sneered.

Peter held up an opened wooden box and displayed its gruesome contents to the room. Peter pulled out his handcuffs and turned the still apoplectic man around but before he read him his rights Peter commented, "By the way, what happened to your accent?"

Businelli sputtered. Neal smiled.

In addition to the severed hand of one Fredrick Newman, the FBI found evidence of a planned heist but most interestingly, they found materials that could be used for little other purpose than to frame a third party for the crime, specifically to frame one agent Peter Burke.

Peter sat in his office, going over the last of the paperwork involved in booking Charles Asheville a.k.a. Businelli when Neal tapped on the open door. "You wanted to see me?"

Peter grunted.

"Um, I'm a little rusty on your non-verbal communication." Neal smirked. "Was that a 'yes, come in' grunt or a 'go away' grunt?"

Peter sighed. "Come in."

Neal smiled but stopped when Peter added, "And shut the door."

"What's up, Boss?" Neal said as he took a seat across from Peter.

"I could ask you that same question." Peter replied.

"Are you?" Neal asked.

"Neal, cut the crap, what just happened and I swear by all that is Holy in this world if you say you don't know I will throw you from that window."

"You could just say, "I'll defenestrate you.'" Neal mused. "It's more direct."

"Neal." Peter growled.

"Fine, fine." Neal said. "If I were involved in this situation, which I wasn't, I might have looked in on an Italian friend of mine."

Neal smiled, "Let's say hypothetically my friend wasn't too happy to see me at his hotel and decided to move to another hotel and that hotel just happened to only have one room available due to a sudden and large number of reservations being made."

"So, the only room available was a room that just happened to have the missing Raphael painting hanging in the place of the mirror that was, as it turns out, stashed behind the couch. And there just happened to be a flyer advertising a substantial reward for the recovery of that painting posted in the employee break room."

Neal shrugged. "Stranger things have been known to happen."

Peter smiled, "Yeah, especially when you're around. You promised me you were going to drop this Neal."

"I promised you I wouldn't go anywhere near the Algonquin again." Neal corrected. "And I didn't. I think you'll find that I also went nowhere near the Plaza, in fact," He grinned. "It's outside my radius."

"Oh and you're skittish little friend had nothing to do with this, I suppose?"

Neal frowned, "With what, Peter? We're talking hypotheticals."

Peter coughed, a transparent attempt not to laugh. "Sure, we are."

Neal sighed. "Let's just say that someone found out a shady, cocky, infuriating person came to town with the motive and intent to dismantle and discredit a very successful law enforcement team. Let's just, now this is for grins and giggles remember; Let's just suppose that this arrogant, overconfident, disrespectful, pasty faced…"

"Neal."

"That this guy had put a plan into motion that would tarnish the reputation of a devoted law enforcement officer beyond repair."

Peter was no longer even slightly tempted to laugh.

"I'd say that someone bending a few rules to stop that man, wouldn't be such a bad thing." Neal finished.

There was a pause before Peter added quietly. "Hypothetically."

"Of course." Neal smiled.

Another pause followed as if neither man knew exactly where to take the conversation from there and both were spared by Peter's phone ringing.

Peter held up a finger to Neal as he answered, "We're not done."

"Hello? … Yeah, Honey ... Not too much, just finished my paperwork. I've got a few more things to say to Neal and then I'll be heading out the door….What?...Why?...Okay….Ok-ay….Promise…I love you, too. See you in a minute. Bye."

Neal smiled, "Elizabeth?"

"No, it was Hughes." Peter deadpanned. "He likes it when I call him Honey. Of course it was El."

"Yikes. I was just making conversation."

"She wants you to come to dinner."

Neal grinned.

"C'mon, I can say what I've got to say to you on the way." Peter said as he rose from his desk.

Neal grabbed the door, calling. "Here let me give you a hand with that."

Peter stopped and gave Neal a dirty look.

"What?" Neal said, all innocence.

Peter rolled his eyes and walked through the door.

"By the way, Peter, you're looking really hand-some today."

"Neal."

"You've got to hand it to Asheville, the man is hands down the best dressed crook we've ever gotten our hands on."

"Neeeal."

"Good thing Sara was handy with that warrant."

"NEAL!"

THE END


End file.
